


We Know When to Kill (And We Know When to Kiss)

by Lady_Vibeke



Series: "Easy, there, little one." [ a Boba Fett/Koska Reeves stories collection ] [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: (we love all sorts of idiots here), Bickering, Boba Fett is a Gentleman, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grumpy Idiots, Hopeful Ending, Idiots in Love, Intimacy, Light Angst, Porn with Feelings, Post s02e08, Sexual Tension, Sweet/Hot, Tender Sex, soft idiots, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28756362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: He can picture how she sates her appetites: random hookups with strangers and quick flings in dirty alleyways. She was but a child during the Purge: did the princess rise her to be a Nite Owl from the very beginning? Has this girl ever made love at all?He hooks two fingers under her chin and makes her look up. She's still ablaze with want, cheeks tinged bright red, chest rising and falling in clipped breaths. So young, so demanding, and yet so inexperienced.“Has anyone ever touched you like they cared?”[ After the successful mission to rescue the child, the team celebrates on the cruiser. Boba and Koska clash again, but this time there's no one to stop them. ]
Relationships: Boba Fett/Koska Reeves, Cara Dune & Koska Reeves, Din Djarin/Cara Dune
Series: "Easy, there, little one." [ a Boba Fett/Koska Reeves stories collection ] [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108340
Comments: 19
Kudos: 73





	We Know When to Kill (And We Know When to Kiss)

**Author's Note:**

> Title once again borrowed from a Garbage song (though the song has it the other way around, but nobody cares, right?)

Victory is bittersweet.

They rescued the child, captured Moff Gideon alive, conquered an entire cruiser, but no one truly feels like celebrating. Din had to give up his kid and acquired a power he never asked for nor wants; the Mandalorian princess is seething but she can't blame Din for what happened, especially now that he's barely himself.

Cara sits by him on the steps of the control room while the others are busy figuring out what to do next. The Nite Owls can have the ship, the rest of them will split the reward.

“Nice job in here, ladies,” Fett compliments when he shows up, not long after the Jedi left with the child. Din hasn't uttered a single word after that.

Cara catches a glance between Fett and Reeves, something she cannot quite place but that almost makes her smile, because, for a moment, it's like watching a very familiar scene from the outside—dark eyes gazing through a helmet like it isn't there at all, and something in the air around them changing. _heating up..._

“Girls get shit done, my friend,” Shand replies, eliciting a chuckle from him.

“They certainly do.”

An imperceptible turn in his helmet shifts his attention back on Reeves, who gives him a surprisingly insolent sneer in return. Cara takes a mental note to ask Din what the hell happened between these two in her absence, as soon as he's feeling better.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asks him softly. They've been sitting here for endless minutes and it feels like he's barely breathing. She's not looking at his face, even if it seems like it doesn't matter anymore. It hurts her to see him like this, and it hurts her even more that he doesn't seem to care.

“No, not yet. Talking about it won't change anything.”

He's staring at his hands and closes his eyes when Cara pulls back a little because of his cold tone.

“Want me to leave you alone?” she offers warmly. She wants him to know she respects how he feels and won't take his harshness personally. She makes to stand, but Din grabs her hand and silently begs her to stay.

“You're all I have left,” he murmurs.

Cara's heart cracks. She scoots closer, squeezing Din's hand between hers.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

They let the others take care of everything. They'll be staying on the cruiser for a few days, until everything is sorted out and everyone can go their separate ways with their own share of the prize. The ship is huge and the luxurious top tier sleeping quarters are a treat they all deserve.

Cara gives Kryze the coordinates to the closest New Republic base and lets her set the course. Kryze also sends Reeves and Fett to lock up Gideon in one of his own cells, and it's a mistake, because twenty minutes later Shand finds them trying to rip each other's throats out with Gideon as a very unimpressed audience.

“Never leave these two alone again,” Shand announces when she escorts them back to the control room, both still ruffled and panting. “They cannot be trusted.”

“ _Again?”_ Kryze groans with an incredulous glower at her young protégé. Reeves holds her gaze and unapologetically overlooks the reproach.

“Like fire and gasoline,” Shand smirks. “Quite hot to watch, if you ask me.” She gives her companion a knowing look which he either doesn't notice or deliberately ignores.

After this, Fett and Reeves must to be kept at least ten feet apart, because the electricity they spark when they're standing in each other's proximity makes everyone nervous and slightly uncomfortable.

They find plenty of food and alcohol in the huge kitchens, and in a matter of minutes a small feast is thrown together. Everyone enjoys the food and the drinks except Din; with a lot of patience, Cara manages to convince him to have some stew and a bit of wine, but that's all. He's tired and she can see it, and this sort of tiredness cannot be slept off.

When the others get too chatty and noisy, Cara figures it might be time to call it a night for Din.

“Let's get you somewhere more quiet. You need rest,” she says as she tugs him out of his chair. He complies so docilely she doubts he even heard what she said. He's broken, it's going to take time to put the pieces back together, but, with a little help, she's confident he's going to make it.

She finds a private bedroom and sits him down on the bed—a real bed and not just a bare bunk, something neither of them as seen, let alone used, in a very long time.

“Try to get some sleep. You look like shit.” She offers him an attempt of a playful smile which he mirrors meekly. When she makes to walk away, he grabs her wrist and squeezes in an timid prayer.

“Please, stay.”

Cara turns back and finds his blood-shot eyes staring at her in a way that makes her chest tighten painfully. She wonders if it's a good idea to spend the night together now that he's so vulnerable. But how can she say no to that look, to the gentle but firm pressure of his fingers around her wrist?

“Okay.” She cracks a smile while he pulls her closer and closer until she's standing between his spread knees, and all she knows next is that his arms are around her waist and his face is buried in her stomach, and she finds herself returning the embrace with a know of emotion swelling in her throat.

She runs her fingers through his hair until his shoulders relax and his breath evens out. She holds him in her arms and they fall sleep like this, armours and boots and everything. They keep each other grounded and, as simple as it is, it gets them through the night.

  
  


*

On his way to the control room, Boba is impressed by the destruction he has to walk through. There are bodies everywhere: the girls must have been a fury, in here. He's pissed he missed it.

When he reaches the others, he's bewildered for a moment: there is no trace of the kid they came for and Djarin's helmet lies at his feet on the ground, seemingly forgotten. The man and Dune are sitting close. There are hands touching and words being whispered so quietly one would think they're afraid what they're saying might hurt them—in the ears or in the mouth—if they spoke any louder than that.

Fennec fills him in on what he missed and even spends a few words of praise for the three women she's been working with. She's not easily impressed, so Boba guesses these ladies must really be a sight to be hold on the field. Not that they aren't anyway.

He casts a surreptitious glance to the girl in the blue armour. She's listening to whatever her princess is pointing out on a map, probably their next destination after this mission is wrapped up. Reeves stills. She straightens up and turns back as if she could sense his attention upon her. He doesn't know how but her eyes meet his through his visor and for a moment the rest of the room disappears.

“That's a wild one,” Fennec mutters beside him. “Easy to underestimate, given her size. You'd be surprised by her strength.”

“I was,” he says. He doesn't elaborate when Fennec inquiringly narrows her eyes at him.

The best part about this entire predicament is the food: Gideon's personal pantry offers a broad selection of the best delicacies in the Galaxy. Boba hasn't eaten so much and so well in years, but if everything goes according to place things are going to be very different from now on.

He's sitting alone at a table sipping a dark liquor he's never tasted before. Fennec is teaching the princess some of her death grips; it makes Boba shudder: it's not like the woman isn't dangerous enough already, power-hungry as she is. In a corner, Djarin and Dune are still glued to each other and don't seem to be intentioned to split any time soon. Dune is careful and caring around Djarin, soft in a way that's hard to believe for someone who's seen her fight. The lack of personal space between them confirms what Boba had already guessed by those disgusting longing looks they're always exchanging: these two are such fools for each other they make the air around them reek with love.

He hears a chuckle above him. Before he has a chance to look up, Reeves's stupidly young voice sneers, “Let's give them a room. Those two need to fuck already.”

The pieces of her armour are gone; her jumpsuit is pulled down and tied by the sleeves around her waist, exposing a white tank top that clings sinfully to her sweaty skin. She has a beer in her hand, already half empty.

“He's broken,” Boba object, peeling his eyes off her to point them toward the two people in question. “If they fuck now, they'll regret it.” Djarin's body language says he's desperate for a diversion, for physical and emotional comfort; Dune's body language says she's almost afraid the wrong move from her could break him. “He doesn't know, but she does.”

Reeves places a boot on the bench next to Boba and leans back against the wall.

“Got a crush on the pretty marshal, old man?”

Half of his mouth curls up. “She's a knockout, in more ways than one. A bit on the young side, though.”

“Afraid you can't keep up with a piece of fresh meat?” she teases. He can't see her face but he has no trouble picturing her insufferable little smirk.

“I think I've shown you I can keep up just fine.”

She scoffs. “We were interrupted.”

“Sorry I had to leave you unsatisfied.”

He feels Reeves's chest pressing into his back when she leans down to whisper in his ear, “I like to finish what I start. Especially when I'm winning.”

She lingers a couple of seconds more than necessary, long enough for his pants to start feeling tight, then pulls back, stealing away her softness and warmth.

Boba clenches his teeth. Watching her—young, and beautiful, and angry—makes him want things that are not meant for him. But she has this look whenever their eyes meet, and there is fire in her irises, wild flames that speak to him in ways he refuses to acknowledge.

“You're a fierce little thing, I'll give you that.”

“And you're sharp shot, for an old man,” she purrs. She's not even bothering to disguise it as sarcasm: her tone, however impertinent, is laced with flirtation. She's openly fishing for trouble, and if Boba wasn't a gentleman beneath his rough crust, he'd happily provide it.

“I'm not as old as these scars make me look,” he informs her. He appreciates that she doesn't seem to have noticed his scars at all, so he doesn't know why he brings them up. Maybe he just wants her to put her foot in her mouth and say the wrong thing, just so he can have a reason to be irked by her—a _reasonable_ reason he can actually blame on her, one that isn't the attraction he feels toward her and her big mouth.

Reeves's boot drags across the bench seat and sets heavily back onto the floor.

“Scars make people look strong and brave, not old,” she retorts dryly, like she's calling him out rather than reassuring him. Damn this girl, her indignation nearly makes him smile.

“I'll take the compliment, though I'm sure it was unintended.”

“Credit when it's due,” she snips, and Boba groans inwardly. His self-control isn't as unwavering as it was in the cantina on Tatooine. She's sneaking her way under his skin and, this time, it's an entirely different sort of heat she's igniting, and with very scarce effort.

“It's too hot in here,” he grumbles, abandoning his drink on the table to push himself out of the bench. He stands and heads out of the room without any hurry. He doesn't want her to think he's running away, albeit he kind of is... and kind of isn't.

The hallway is deserted. He's not surprised when the doors hisses open and closed again behind him, nor is he surprised to hear the steps approaching him.

He stops to check behind himself: Reeves is heading his way as calmly as he was leaving, as though she knew he wasn't really trying to get away from her.

She walks up to his face with a daring attitude that immediately gets his pulse to accelerate in anticipation. Inside, he's rattling with anger for this power she has over him.

“Surrendering before the fun even starts?” she taunts. “Not very brave.”

He wishes they both had their armours on. He's still more clothed than she is, but it makes very little difference: her body heat is calling to his senses with treacherous promises of pleasure, her skin looking soft and inviting and begging to be explored. He can't give in to the temptation: if he so much as dared one single touch, he's sure there would be no going back from that.

“I'm not in the mood for a fight,” he mumbles, trying to back away from her, but Koska pushes forward until he has his back to the wall. She grabs a fistful of the front his his cowl and give it a sharp jerk, her face barely an inch from his. Her hand sneaks between the folds of his cowl until it reaches his shirt and the his bare neck.

“Who said anything about _fighting?”_

Her touch sparks fire under his skin. She makes the blood run thick and hot like molten metal through his veins, and as the heat flares the jagged edge between anger and lust thins out to a flimsy, blurry line that makes him lose whatever little control he had left on his body's most visceral responses.

“You better get off me before you regret it,” he warns her, his voice already hoarse with inescapable arousal.

She misunderstands his advice. “I'm not afraid of you.”

A low, derisive laugh shakes his chest. “You have your sweet little body pressed all over me and you think I'm _threatening_ you?”

Koska's eyes flash wide in understanding. But the girl has spunk, Boba has to concede that: instead of jerking back, after a split second of hesitation she challengingly pushes herself closer to him, _onto him,_ pearl-black eyes growing impossibly darker.

He grabs her hips in an attempt to hold her back that is so blatantly perfunctory even she must realise it.

“So tiny and so cheeky.”

He's can't help a hue of fondness in what was meant to be a teasing remark, to which Koska replies by nudging a knee between his legs. The inevitable collision of their hips makes them both groan low in their throats. In his dizzy mind, Boba wonders when he started thinking of her as _Koska,_ but that doesn't seem important as of now.

“Don't play with fire, kid.”

The sultry look she gives him in lieu of a reply says, _'I_ am _the fire.'_

He tries to grab her hips in a vain attempt to push her back, but Koska hijacks his hands and guide one into the suit, between her legs. He can feel everything through the thin fabric of her underwear— the heat, the _d_ _ampness—_ and groans to himself at how wonderful she feels. Koska doesn't shy away when his fingertip drags along the soaked line between her folds; he understands he's reached the right spot when she grinds down onto his touch with a throaty mewl that sends a jolt of maddening arousal to his groin. She's gorgeous, eyelids heavy with lust, lips parted in an ecstatic haze that fuels the flaming desire raging inside him.

As much as he wants her, though, he doesn't want _this—_ doesn't want to take her up against a wall for three minutes of fleeting bliss. She should want better than this for herself.

It takes a considerable effort to pull his hand away, and an ever greater one to look at her, eager and needy as she is. Hell, he wants to _kiss her._

A frustrated moan gets stuck in her throat. She tries to protest, but he interrupts her before she makes him reconsider his actions.

“Go find yourself a toy if you want to play, baby girl,” he says. “I'm well past the age of games.”

Koska pouts like a spoiled little girl and presses herself back onto him and his undeniable arousal.

“Be a man and finish what you started,” she hisses upon his mouth.

“What?” she adds when he doesn't move an inch. “Too old for sex?”

She's trying to rile him up, but she doesn't really need to. He wants her so badly he's only a blink away from losing his mind. The only thing keeping him from ripping her clothes away is the respect he has for her. She deserves better than what she's asking for.

“Don't confuse sex with a cheap fuck, kid.”

He can picture how she sates her appetites: random hookups with strangers and quick flings in dirty alleyways. She was but a child during the Purge: did the princess rise her to be a Nite Owl from the very beginning? Has this girl ever made love at all?

He hooks two fingers under her chin and makes her look up. She's still ablaze with _want,_ cheeks tinged bright red, chest rising and falling in clipped breaths. So young, so demanding, and yet so inexperienced.

“Has anyone ever touched you like they cared?”

The surprise flashing through her eyes says everything her sealed lips refuse to admit.

“I'm not here for pillow talk,” she spits, trying to swat his hand away, but he saw this coming and doesn't let go.

“You've already answered my question.”

He can see through her facade, now, understands her rabid hunger, the particular fierceness in how she fights. She's starved for touch and doesn't even know. Or she does, perhaps, and doesn't like to admit it.

She can't make the venom on her tongue sound remotely convincing as she scoffs, “You think you can make me believe _you_ care?”

There's hurt lingering beneath the dare flashing through her eyes.

“Careful, little one. I'm not immune to temptation.”

There is this tension that has been building up between them since their scuffle in the cantina, and it's so sexually charged it's getting more and more difficult to ignore. He thought the adrenaline from the takeover of Gideon's ship would dissipate it, but it wasn't enough: they're still burning under each other's skin and it won't go away.

He doesn't know how they end up stumbling into one of the private quarters in the top deck. All he knows is that Koska has her hands roaming beneath his clothes and her sweet lips sucking their way down his neck, and this alone is dimming his common sense enough to make him forget his principles. She's naked before they even get to the bed; she pulls him on top of her and tries to get his hands where she wants them.

She's impatient and rushed in seeking what she wants. He coaxes a softer pace into her with kisses and caresses that her body welcome with whimpers and moans so desperate even she seems surprised by them. Slowly, patiently, his gentle ministrations manage to soothe Koska's wild eagerness into a reluctant acceptance. He can tell she's used to being in control by how often her hands grab his wrists, only to still and let go as soon as she realises what she's doing. He listens to her pleas and complies accordingly, but he doesn't let her take charge. Her hurry to get where she wants knows no patience; she needs to learn some if she wants to discover what pleasure really is.

He takes his time to take her apart. It's almost sad that she feels like a virgin wherever he touches her. It's like she's used to scratching her itches fast and without dropping a single piece of armour. She probably never even bothers to take off her helmet in her encounters. This needs to be different.

He strokes her gently, finding her wet and ready. The tip of his middle finger dips between her folds and rouses an impatient groan from her. She raises her hips in a greedy attempt to get some relief and he shoots her a warning glare that causes a wicked grin to appear on her mouth; he sinks his finger inside her while her teeth dig into her lower lip and her eyes shut. She grinds into his touch, panting, her despair so intense it makes him smile indulgently.

“Don't rush it,” he whispers. He's lying on his side beside her, with a hand caressing her hair and the other working idly between her legs. He can sense she's getting close to her climax. “Feel it with your whole body,” he coaxes, “let it build until you feel like it's tearing you apart.”

Obediently, Koska fights against her own impatience. She forces her body to relax, which allows Boba to slip another finger inside her and increase his tempo. This time, she follows his directions.

“Yes, like that,” he praises. Her walls are starting to clench around each of his strokes. “Like that. Good girl.”

She's breath-taking, flushed and glistening with sweat. Her eyes are staring into his, hungry and glossy, as her chest heaves while his fingers and thumb work in sync to get her exactly where he wants her. Her lips are parted in an obscene expression of unrestrained bliss, and she's so pliant, so trusting, and he could come on this sight alone. He lets her pant and cry until she can't even breathe, and then he sees it in her look, the nearing breaking point, so, with a gentle caress through her hair, he whispers in her ear, “Let go, now.”

A curl of his fingers is enough to shatter the brittle dam between torture and release. Koska's back arches while she cries, clenching tight around his fingers, over and over, grinding her hips down on his hand to savour him through the over sensitive waves of pleasure shaking her body.

“Ride it out, now,” he instructs when the blind haze in her eyes starts ebbing. There are tears tracing wet lines down the corners of her eyes. “Enjoy it.” He's so aroused his murmur is barely audible, even this closely. She listens to him: she focuses on her breath, lets him stroke her through her climax until she falls back on the bed, spent and breathless, and so beautiful it hurts to just look at her.

“Good girl. Good girl.” He keeps stroking her braided hair while he slowly pulls his soaked fingers away, allowing her to gradually come back to him. It takes her longer than he thought. Once again he catches himself thinking she feels too much like a virgin.

Her breathing is still ragged when she rolls on her flank to place a hand on his chest. “I'll concede,” she pants, “you know what you're doing.”

The bed is a mess but it's going to be someone else's problem. She's his priority.

“Let's get you cleaned up.”

He scoops her up from the bed and carries her to the fresher. He's painfully hard and the slickness he can feel between her thighs is driving him insane with desire.

She reaches down to grab him through his robe. “Let me take care of this.”

“I can do that myself,” he says. He triest to remove her hand, but Koska insists.

“I want to.”

She starts pulling his pants down while she sinks to the floor, and it takes every bit of willpower left in him to grab her elbows and pull her up.

“Not on your knees,” he states before she can misread his gesture.

Koska seems taken aback by this objection. He waits for her to understand. After a moment, she folds her arms around his neck and, with a graceful hop, locks her legs around his waist.

“How about like this?” she whispers upon his mouth.

He twitches painfully at the sudden friction with her saturated folds. He couldn't possibly get any harder, trapped between their bodies, the heat between her spread legs a temptation too maddening to resist while she rubs herself against him, coating him in her juices. Her body fits easily into his arms _—_ so small, compared to his _—_ and though definitely not fragile, she's tight and delicate between his coarse hands. No matter how hard he's yearning to bury himself inside her, he doesn't want to risk hurting her.

“Don't flatter yourself, big guy. I can handle you.”

“Can you?”

He's barely hinted an intrigued smirk when, without a warning, she grabs him and guides him into her with an eager roll of her hips.

He has to bury his face into her bosom to stifle a loud grunt. Koska throws her head back with a breathless sigh, hands frantically clutched behind his head, and grants him no time to savour the moment—her soft, welcoming warmth, how beautifully she opens up for him until he's fully sheathed inside her...

“C'mon,” she growls in a voice deep with desire, “I'm not gonna break.”

He takes her up against the shower wall. She's still so wet and tight from her orgasm he nearly comes before he even gets to move at all, but he wants her to enjoy this, so he holds himself back and starts thrusting in a slow, agonising rhythm that has her dig her nails into his neck with a strangled moan of ecstasy. He's mesmerised by the unaware eroticism of her throat, arched and bare, an open invitation for his tongue and lips to explore and nip at and then descend to her breasts in a trail of worshipping kisses while his thrusts pick up a faster pace. Koska starts begging him for more, more, _more._ Any fear he might hurt her vanishes with the increasing delight in her cries.

There is a tenderness in how they're rocking into one another, something quiet and vulnerable ghosting at the edge of the pleasure, unacknowledged but not unnoticed. He thinks he's probably just imagining it, until Koska, out of breath, presses her forehead to his and watches him closely—every scar, every flaw, like she wants to map him and learn him by heart as he is right now, lost in her and blind with lust. He stills for a second when she takes his face into her hands and runs her thumbs across his cheeks right before pulling him into a kiss he wasn't expecting. It's surprisingly soft and gentle. An eloquent roll of her hips in the middle of the kiss shakes him out of his stupor and he finally starts moving again, his hands under her ass, her legs locked possessively around his waist, urging him closer, deeper. They're still kissing when she starts clenching around him and they're still kissing when she comes with a gasp that reverberates into his throat through their locked lips. All control is forgotten when he spills inside her, spurred by the mere contentment he senses in her. He's crushing her against the wall with his entire body, jerking again and again, but all he gets from her is a light nudge of her nose against his and a smile that does funny things to his stomach.

He helps her shower, surprised that she still seems to crave his touch as the water runs over her body to wash away the sweat and the slickness of their mixed fluids from between her legs. Neither talks. He's still half clothed and she's barely wrapped in a towel when he eases her down on the bed and pulls the covers over her. He stops for a moment to observe her, languid and gorgeous, and doesn't have an explanation for what just happened. He doesn't know how to reconcile the picture of himself and her together; he's never touched something so young and untainted. It's almost a relief to see the roughness of his hands didn't stain or ruin this beautiful purity.

Koska's eyes are still trained on him, still hazy from the afterglow. She seems pensive. He brushes a hand over her head and absently swipes his thumb across her forehead before pulling back with a weird tingle in his chest. He doesn't know why he just did that. The way Koska's eyes fluttered closed under his caress... that's something he'll be thinking about for a long while.

“Get some sleep,” he mutters, but as soon as he faces away to leave Koska tugs him back onto the bed. He doesn't ask why and she doesn't tell. It's all in her eyes, a mute request she won't stoop to voicing, even if it's what she wants. As much as he would love to give her a hard time, just for the fun of it, he wants this too much, too, to risk it.

He slips under the sheets beside her and welcomes her into his arms when she cuddles up to him. Something about this feels inexplicably familiar, like a deja vu awakening impressions of things that never existed. She feels agonisingly soft and smooth under his calloused palms but she doesn't appear bothered by his coarse touch. With a content sigh, she rests her head upon his chest, an arm wrapped across his torso, and finally closes her eyes.

It's odd how this doesn't feel odd at all, even though it should. Sex is no big deal—anyone can have sex and shrug it off—but this kind of intimacy isn't something you just walk away from in the morning. It sticks, leaves a mark, and he already knows this is a trap both of them should have been too shrewd to fall into. And yet here they are.

He closes his eyes and exhales a long, heavy breath. It feels too good to be here with her to think about anything other than the soft pressure of her cheek and lips over his pectoral. This something he will never admit, not even to himself, but the memory of her featherweight wrapped around his torso and the unimaginable sweetness of her eyes left a print deep in his soul he's not sure he can—or even wants to—erase.

He'll worry about this shit some other time. For now, he'll just take whatever she's willing to give.

  
  


*

  
  


Waking up with Din in her arms was something Cara could get used to. Something else she would happily sign up for is that groggy look on his face as he gazes up at her while slowly realising where he is and why.

“Hey,” he greets. He's still half asleep but he looks better than he did yesterday; the smile surfacing on his mouth is small but genuine and makes Cara smile in return.

“Hey.”

She woke up just a few minutes ago to find him draped all over her, head resting on her chest, and all she could do was feel her heart swell and start stroking his hair as he slept on. Now that he's awake, there are questions floating between them, but they leave them unanswered. If they start talking about anything now, they will go on for hours, maybe days, and they don't have that kind of time right now. They're going to find it, though, when things as a little less crazy.

She needs to get used to this—this adorable face, these beautiful brown eyes—but what she's seeing just makes her think he looks like he felt all along: a tough facade filled with kindness.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. He's nestled under her armpit and shifts self-consciously as soon as he realises they slept like this for the entire night. But Cara stops him before he can move, slightly amused by his pointless concern.

“Hey, it's okay,” she almost giggles. She runs a hand down her face, combing some of his mussed hair back. “It's okay,” she repeats softly, and finally he starts relaxing.

They lie in silence for a couple more hours, eyes closed, limbs tangled together. Just being here, alive, feels like a gift, even with the lurking awareness that the silence is going to have to be broken, at some point. There is so much to deal with: the kid's departure, the helmet issue, _them..._ now is just not the right moment yet.

They join the others for breakfast and Din leaves his helmet behind. There is a tangible effort from everyone not to look their way, but in the end everything feels incredibly normal when they all sit down at the same table to share caf and smoked meat. Over the meal, the formality of last names switches to the friendlier sounds of first names, and simple comrades officially become friends.

In the meantime, something in the atmosphere keeps tugging at Cara's attention, albeit she can't tell what: everyone is chatting in between bites, and there are laughters and jokes, and all seems normal, but her sixth sense is tingling. She figures out what it is when, after breakfast, Din ends up talking to Boba in a corner and someone is watching them from a suspiciously safe distance.

When Cara approaches discreetly, Koska's eyes focus on Din.

“Is he okay?” she inquires before Cara can ask her own question.

“Not right now,” Cara says, following Koska's gaze. “But he's gonna be.”

From across the room, Din seems to perceive he's being watched and briefly turns to shoot Cara a shy smile.

“Looks like you took good care of him,” Koska smirks. Her eyes, however, are not looking at Din.

Cara grins to herself. She was too busy being worried about Din, last night, to really put too much thought into it, but now that she can consider the situation more analytically, she can see what she failed to see in the first place: the energy buzzing between Koska and Boba has such blatant sensual undertones she's shocked she didn't notice sooner. Studying them both more intently, Cara catches more subtle details: the sudden loss of rigidity in Koska's bearing, the languor in her eyes, how Boba's shoulders stand taller and straighter than ever... It's an unlikely match, but Cara has to concede it makes perfectly sense. No one knows better than her that even the strongest, fiercest warriors can be overpowered by their dire need to be _human._

“Looks like someone took good care of you, too.”

It's meant as a light-hearted quip, but Koska's eyes actually darken—if there is any such thing as darker than black holes.

“It was a fun one-time thing,” she clarifies in a clipped tone that sounds a bit too defensive. In fact, it reminds Cara of a kind of denial she's very well acquainted with.

“Yeah, I said that too,” she chuckles knowingly, “a while ago.”

It's what she told herself after that last night she spent in the farmers village on Sorgan with Din, and then again, when he came back for her months later, and again, on Nevarro, before they went off to blow up the Imperial base. The funny thing is that she and Din never even shared a kiss; whatever happened between Koska and Boba, on the other hand, was much more heated and physical, judging by the abrupt change in their body language.

“Me and him are nothing like you and your pretty boy,” Koska spits.

Cara shrugs. “Who knows. I'm just saying, everyone noticed there's something going on... don't close a door just because it seems unlikely. Life will surprise you, if you give it a chance.”

“There is no chance, here. We're probably never going to see each other again.” Koska's jaw contracts as she glances down at her feet, arms crossing over her chest. There is rancour in the way she is looking at the man in question, but also a streak of longing Cara can sympathise with. She's been there, she knows how it feels to want something you believe you'll never have.

“Another thing I said more than once and had to take back,” Cara conveys, half fond, half nostalgic. She certainly never expected things to go the way they did. It was a gift she will never take for granted. “Ask Din if you don't believe me,” she adds with a playful nod toward the opposite side of the room where Reeves is refusing to look, all of a sudden.

Her lips barely move when she replies a faint, “I believe you.”

She could be anywhere in her twenties, Cara muses, taking in Koska's slender frame. Boba could be twice her age, and yet differences matter so little when two people find each other in the dark. These two together could be the king and queen of the galaxy.

“He's an honourable man,” Cara comments after a wistful pause, “and a brave warrior. Stranger matches have happened.”

Koska snorts. “I'm not gonna marry him just because he's good in bed. We had sex, it was great. End of story.”

Not only she _is_ defensive, she even sounds like she's telling this to herself rather than to Cara. She's so young and so _angry..._ Cara can't help wondering if this girl knows anything at all about love, or if all she's even known is discipline and war.

All she can do is give Koska a resigned look, and sigh, “If you say so.”

Koska doesn't reply. She just leans back against the wall and stares as Cara reaches Din and slips her hand into his, squeezing affectionately. Boba regards their intertwined fingers for a second, then casts a fleeting look to the corner where Koska is standing and excuses herself.

Three hours later, Cara and Din are standing side by side on Nevarro, watching two ships take off in different directions: the cruiser with Bo-Katan and Koska heading to Coruscant, the Slave I with Boba and Fennec heading to Tattooine.

It's like a whole new life is about to begin.

  
  


*

  
  


Koska doesn't really know what she's doing here.

Her rendezvous with the Jawas was fruitful and she secured a valuable lot of weapons Bo-Katan will be very happy to add to her already remarkable collection. Only downside: the pirate attack she had to withstand damaged her shuttle beyond her repairing expertise, so now she's stuck in this hell hole until she can find someone who can provide the unsalvageable parts and put the shuttle back together. It was only an unfortunate coincidence if her ship crashed just a few miles from Boba Fett's Palace.

Koska gets off her speeder and removes her helmet to take a look at the tall, rounded building standing before her and wrinkles her nose at its obnoxious grandeur. She can't see what a guy like Fett could ever see in a place like this but there are definitely perks in living in this luxury. She can sleep pretty much everywhere and in any condition, but she would kill for a shower whenever she fancies one.

She convinces herself she's only here to ask for a heads-up about about a decent mechanic or whoever can help her. The two armed guards at the entrance aren't very friendly and don't give a crap about who she is and who she knows. She has to step over a total of fifteen unconscious bodies to get in. at this point, the only one who could maybe stop her is Shand, but she's nowhere to be seen, so far. Good.

Koska doesn't know what to expect from this impromptu visit. It's not like she _meant_ to come here at all: she's much rather be on her way back to Coruscant with her cargo of weapons than be stuck in the middle of a stupid desert. One thing she knows: if the old man is going to offer her a shower and a clean bed, she's not going to say no—even if the offer doesn't involve his company.

She's been thinking about him and she's afraid he'll see right through her as soon as she's standing before him. She misses him, sometimes. More than the sex, she misses his ways, how careful and attentive he was with her, with her needs, and always so respectful. He gave her everything he wanted not to get something for himself in return, but for the sole purpose of showing her what pleasure is like when it's an enjoyment and not a simple distraction. He proved that a little too well, but Koska can only blame herself for this: she had been the one to challenge him to make her believe he cared—a harmless provocation whose only purpose had been to rile him up and get things going. She hates that she's come to realise he was pretty damn convincing.

When she reaches the main room, she finds the big man himself on top of an elevated area, sitting her on something like a throne. She snickers at all this pompous drama. How pretentious.

When Boba registers her presence, he silences the three people babbling at his feet with a sharp gesture of his hand. They all fall silent at once; they start turning around, curious to see whoever caused such a reaction from their overlord, but nod from Boba summons a couple of guards who usher the visitors so quickly it's like they were never in the room at all. The funny thing is, the guards have gone, too. It's just Boba and Koska, now.

She saunters toward him, helmet under her arm, and encompasses the environment with an unimpressed look.

“Had to knock out a handful of your lackeys,” she informs him with a defiant tilt of her head. “They wouldn't let me through.”

If Boba is annoyed she humiliated his men with little to no effort, he doesn't let it show. He stands, descends from his throne, and walks up to her with a half smirk curling his mouth.

“What is your pretty face doing here?”

Koska's lips twitch for a split second before she regains her idle attitude.

“Just stopping by for repairs. I was curious to see this place. ”

“You've seen it,” he says. “Try not to kill anyone on your way out.”

Their eyes are engaged in an entirely separate conversation whose words don't match the ones they're speaking out loud.

_'I wanted to see you.'_

_'You have no business, here.'_

_'I think I do.'_

She juts her chin out, narrows her eyes at him with an insolent smirk. “It's good to see you, too.”

It's strange that he's not responding to her instigation. He's quiet, almost guarded. It's like he can't process her presence.

“What do you want?” he asks. They're standing so close that anyone walking in on them would question their intentions.

Koska shrugs. She could bring up the incident with the pirates, but it would be a lie. And since she can't tell the truth, she opts for a compromise.

“A couple of hours of your time?”

The expression on Boba's face morphs into a sarcastic frown. “For dinner and a stroll, I assume.”

“You want flowers, too?”

“That's a lot of work for one night of bliss.”

This is when Koska understands what the issue is: he thinks she's just here to have fun. It offends her. Is this his opinion of her? That she only wants to use him to scratch an itch?

“Who said that's all I want?” she hisses, trying not too sound as hurt as she feels.

It must be the slight vibration in her voice that makes him hesitate. The way he looks at her, with a mixture of yearning and sadness, suggests he doesn't know what he should believe.

“Go find someone your own age to play with, kid.”

Koska's heart starts racing with rage. A small crack opens somewhere inside her. It starts bleeding.

“If I just wanted to _play,_ I'd be playing, right now.”

“Don't say things you don't mean.”

Koska is livid. How foolish of her to assume there was something _more._ Whatever she sensed between them, it was just in her imagination, but she won't let him accuse her of not knowing how she feels and what she wants.

“I never do,” she grits through her teeth.

“There's better for you, out there,” he argues. His face is more sadness than yearning, now. She wants to punch him, but she's too afraid he won't punch back, this time.

“And you know what's good for me better than I do, don't you?” There's a sore knot in her throat that makes it painful to speak. And he's still looking at her like he wants her to go but doesn't want to let go, and she wants to scream into his face that he needs to get his shit together before she claws those infuriatingly downcast eyes out.

“I know what's _not_ good for you,” he retorts, gazing away, and Koska is too irked by now to care about appearances. She steps up to his face, cheeks burning with humiliation and frustration.

“I'm a big girl who can think with her own head.” It's no use to stress this and she knows; she just wants to remind him no one is entitled to make any decision for her. If he doesn't want her, he'll have to spell it out.

He doesn't.

“Doesn't mean your head is right.”

He keeps hiding behind some saviour complex, like he's some sort of monster she needs to be protected from, and he's both the threat and the protector. He probably failed to realise she's her own knight in shining armour and doesn't need any saving.

It was a mistake to come here in the first place. The worst thing about this is that, despite her firm determination not to admit it, Koska _cares,_ and she doesn't even know why. It was just one night. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't mean a damn thing. It certainly doesn't, to him.

“You know what, never mind.” She swallows the lump in her throat and takes a step back. Her arm hurts for how tightly it's curled around her helmet. “I take everything back. Sorry for wasting your time, it won't happen again.” She bends her knees in a mocking curtsy. “I'll show myself out.”

She turns on her heel and strides toward the stairs, heart drumming furiously against her ribcage. She feels exactly as the little girl he thinks she is for believing there was a chance. She blames Cara for putting stupid ideas in her head—as if what Cara and Din have can be within anyone's reach.

Koska's foot has just touched the first step of the stairs. She's about to slip her helmet back on to disappear beneath it and remind herself this is what she is—a fighter, nothing more—when an arm wraps around her waist and pulls her back. She spins around, her pulse skipping a beat, and finds herself face to face with a torn looking Boba. His hand is still laying on her hip.

“How long are you staying?”

Koska tries to kick hope back down into the dust it's trying to rise from, to no avail. The unspoken apology in Boba's look is so firm and sincere she can't manage to inject any venom into her answer.

“However long it takes to fix my ship.”

The hand he has on her flank is searing even through the thick layers of her suit. She wants to feel it on her skin. His fingertips dip into her flesh; her whole body tenses in anticipation. Boba's thumb traces an arc across her side; his look softens in a cautious surrender.

“If you need help,” he mutters, almost humbly, “I can recommend some of the slowest mechanics in the sector.”

Koska blinks, then, as the meaning of his words starts sinking in, an incredulous smile treacherously creeps up her lips. She's still mad at him for his stubornness, but at least he's giving her a chance to kick some sense into him. She's not leaving this planet without proving to him she cares, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm like stupidly in love with these two? I can't stop thinking about them. I guess my beloved CaraDin are going to have to share my heart. The more, they merrier, right?
> 
> I must confess: like many times before, there wasn't meant to be any smut in this story. It started out as angst and mutual pining but as it went the grumpy idiots decided they wanted it to go their own way and stopped listening to me. They basically wrote most of this story, any comment should be addressed directly to them. I'm just posting the story. 😐
> 
> Let Boba and Koska know what you think of their storytelling skills, I guess? 😅


End file.
